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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534631">And They Would Sit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione'>Shamione</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Confessions, F/M, Fear, Holding Hands, Short &amp; Sweet, Sweet, Thunderstorms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 07:08:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Thunder wasn't harmful, but the images it conjured were like jagged knives. Draco hated them, and so did she. They both hated thunder, but they both liked their sitting room and a warm fire.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed/Downloaded/Read Works, Truth or Dare?</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And They Would Sit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Truth_or_Dare">Truth_or_Dare</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Truth: (Weather) Thunderstorm</p><p>No beta. Enjoy!</p><p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns/pseuds/DarkAngelOfSorrowReturns">DarkAngelofSorrowReturns</a> for hosting this flash comp on Dumbledore's Armada Discord channel!</p><p>Winner - Overall Favorite</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>Another sleepless night.</p><p>Another twilight of lying awake in bed with substantiated yet false fear flowing through his soul with every rumble of thunder against his window. Another dreadful night of gooseflesh sauntering its way atop his skin when the darkened, stormy sky lit as brightly as it had that night mere months before.</p><p>Whoever had thought that returning to complete his education would be a sufficient punishment had been thoroughly correct. The whispers. The withering glances. The food flung at him in the Great Hall. He deserved everything. And the cruelest, sickest, most twisted joke of it all was appointing him as Head Boy alongside the sole soul who'd haunted his waking and slumbering nightmares.</p><p>They hadn't originally gotten on, and the fault was his alone. Granger had apologized on the train back to Hogwarts for not understanding the burden and consequences once forced upon him. <em>She</em> had sought forgiveness from <em>him</em>. Golden Girl Hermione Granger, the single most intelligent, talented, ball-busting, rebellious witch who'd assisted the destruction of a plague of hate fogging the wizarding world, had apologized to Draco Malfoy, a failure, scum-of-society Death Eater who belonged in Azkaban. The absurdity of the entire scenario had made him laugh, which unquestionably hadn't gone over well.</p><p>The first month had been harsh. He'd been beaten in quiet corridors and condemned Granger when she attempted to heal his wounds. He'd hardly eaten. Scarcely slept. Smoked more cigarettes than his lungs could tolerate.</p><p>But something had changed when the first thunderous rain had raged in the hills of Scotland. She hated the storms just as much as he did. The soft tears she'd shed behind her closed bedroom door had been indication enough when he'd scrambled back to the seclusion of their common room to hide his fright from the world.</p><p>He'd lingered on the couch after returning, and she'd poked her head out well into the evening, creeping into their compact kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. They'd sat silently beside one another before a roaring fire that night, and the three nights following, as the storms seethed outside. She flinched every time the heavens hammered, silent tears falling and soft whimpers sounding as she drank her tea.</p><p>It had rapidly become an unspoken ritual. It would storm, and they would sit. Silently. Comfortably. She'd bring a blanket, and they'd both bring a book. Some nights Granger would share snacks or fix him a cup of tea even though he hadn't asked. On the more ominous nights, he'd read aloud, tolerating the weird swirl of nervousness and contentedness that rippled in his gut.</p><p>But tonight, he found himself alone again because of his own actions. They'd argued hours prior - because, of course, they did. They were them. A few months of near-silence on a couch wouldn't change that. He was an absolute arse. It was ingrained. He was working to improve himself as much as he could, silently and independently. But this afternoon, he'd snapped and tumbled back into false superiority and true arrogance.</p><p>A loud smash floated through his bedroom door then, followed by a faint string of obscenities. Granger. She was getting a cup of tea and had evidently dropped it. The force of apology pulled in him from his bed and out toward the sound.</p><p>She was hunched over wiping spilled liquid from the floor with a dirty rag. Her hair was wild from hours underneath her pillow. Shoulders shaking slightly. Small hiccups echoing over the sound of rain.</p><p>"Where's your wand?"</p><p>"My room…" she whispered. "I was just making tea. I didn't need it."</p><p>Draco bent slowly, scooping the tea cup's severed handle into his hand. "Let me..."</p><p>"No… no, thank you."</p><p>Another clap of thunder echoed through their tiny common room, and her entire body winced, the faintest of whimpers slipping from the small split of her lips. Her hands and arms shook as she made to collect the pieces of her shattered cup. An overwhelming yet increasingly familiar desire to comfort her swelled in his subconscious, forcing his hand onto hers to halt it.</p><p>Her wide, tear-laden eyes snapped to his, her lips quivering and turning downward slightly.</p><p>"Granger, let me clean this up and make you a bloody cup of tea," he growled quietly. "Go sit down."</p><p>Her brows hardened somewhat, but it was merely a faint echo of the hatred that had once lived there. "Malfoy, I can -"</p><p>"I am aware you <em>can</em>. But right now, you can't."</p><p>The look on her face - tired, scared, fed up - tried to force its way down his spine as he stood, offering his hand. She accepted with a slow nod, raising and hurrying past him to the sitting area. He withdrew his wand, always firmly within his pocket, and waved it toward the hearth to light a low fire before cleaning the rest of her mess with a practiced flick.</p><p>Tea was simple, quick, and her fingers were brushing against his palm as she accepted her cup mere moments later. And he found himself somewhat thankful that their silence didn't appear stilted as he sat beside her, tugging a corner of her blanket over his lap.</p><p>"It's just thunder and lightning…" Granger spoke long moments later. "A completely natural phenomenon. I shouldn't… shouldn't be so afraid. Logically -"</p><p>"Fear doesn't heed logic, Granger."</p><p>He could tell by the surprised yet knowing look on her face that she understood. She knew what fears he'd meant and what had happened. She fell quiet again with a sharp nod, pulling the last remnants of her tea between a pair of pink lips he found himself thinking of more and more. She leaned forward and deposited her cup on the table, drawing her knees beneath herself and curling further into the blanket they shared.</p><p>They were quiet for some time, the fire crackling over the near silence that lingered after the now passed storm had.</p><p>"I'm…" Draco started, his words choking as a tightness pressed against his esophagus. He could only muster a whispered, "I'm sorry."</p><p>"I know you are."</p><p>"Not just for today, Granger. I'm sorry -"</p><p>Her hand slipping into his startled him, his wide eyes drifting toward her soft countenance quickly. Searching. Discovering. "I know you are, Draco. And I forgive you."</p><p>Nine words. It was genuinely stunning how nine simple words could lift a weight so burdensome from one's shoulders that it felt like they could finally breathe. That they could take a life saving breath that smelled like cinnamon, dried ink, and parchment. He nodded but uttered no words, turning back to the fire with a soft squeeze of her hand.</p><p>And they sat.</p>
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